This Is My Beautiful, Messy Path to Freedom, Motherhood, and Doula Work…

In 2014, my world as I knew it ended – gradually at first, and then with abruptness. Some of it happened over the years prior in such a slow, stagnant way that I wasn’t fully aware of what was happening. Other parts happened so quickly that it was as though I was left behind and have only caught up years later. I lost a baby, left my job, birthed a baby, left a nearly decade-long marriage, fell into true and deep love with another person – and with myself, moved across the state, fell apart, truly became a mother, left disordered eating, started a business, found meditation, bought land, finally started antidepressants, became a family, was shunned by much of my old life and loved ones, and survived all of it with such humbled strength that I barely recognize my new self — in the best ways.

In my daily work with parents and families, I see how horrifically critical we are of ourselves. We look around and somehow think that everyone else has it together. Not only do we deal with struggling to adjust as parents, we additionally feel a repulsive sense of shame for struggling at all. The other day I had a new mom share vulnerably and longingly with me that she wished her life was as flawless as mine, and could I please, please share my secrets with her? I was finally able to share honestly from a place without shame. My path to this rich, full life was – and is – scary, messy, and painful. That happy, perfect, nuclear family of mine to which she was referring? Happy, yes, but neither perfect nor traditionally nuclear — and until a few years ago, I didn’t think those qualities could co-exist. The joy in being a mother that I presumably always experienced? There was joy, yes, but always? No way. I spent the first two years after my daughter was born making sure everyone thought I was enjoying motherhood the way I was supposed to, even amidst a severe, extended bout of Postpartum Depression & Anxiety. I couldn’t figure out how I was doing all the right things, yet still felt intensely inadequate, lonely, and perpetually confused and defeated. In many ways, I don’t even feel like I truly became a mother until after I crumbled and fell apart years after she was born. And here was this new mom feeling horrible about herself because she was comparing her new, raw journey into motherhood with how she perceived my motherhood to be now, many years later. I shared that one of the reasons I think I’m now able to experience joy is because I finally learned to acknowledge how awful things can be.

Admitting to the dark does not invalidate the light; if anything, it allows it. By accepting and exposing our messiness, we are free.